


Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

by regardinglove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Series, Russia, light nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 00:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardinglove/pseuds/regardinglove
Summary: When Yakov gets bronchitis and can’t go with Yuri to Skate America, Victor fills in as a last minute backup coach. The problem? Skate America falls right before Yuuri’s birthday, and Victor won’t make it back in time to celebrate. Yuuri knows this, accepts it even, but he should know that nothing stands between Victor and what he wants.





	Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haileycl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haileycl/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Hailey (victuurificrec)! Hope your birthday is as fabulous as you are. 
> 
> (Also thanks to Luc (skatinggays) for beta'ing this! I always appreciate your attention to detail and kicking my ass when I don't write.)

Yuuri’s never had any luck with birthdays. When he turned five, one of the onsen guests got drunk, crashed his party, and fell face first into the cake. When he turned twenty one, studying for his finals distracted him and he fainted from not having eaten all day long. Last year, he was so busy preparing for the Grand Prix Final that he barely even noticed it was his birthday at all—save for a few good wishes from his family and Victor, of course. But this birthday, his twenty-fifth, was supposed to be different. He was going to eat katsudon with his new rinkmates and video chat with Phichit and go sightseeing with Victor.

He wasn’t supposed to be laying in his bed at midnight, sniffling into the cold indent where Victor should have been.

He’s being selfish, he knows. Victor’s out there doing a good deed, filling in last minute as Yuri’s coach while Yakov is recovering from bronchitis. This close to the Grand Prix Final, it almost seemed insane that a skater would give up a week of practice to help their rival out, but Victor didn’t even bat an eye when Yakov asked for his assistance. His only hesitation was leaving Yuuri behind, worried that his training would suffer and affect his preparation for the competition, but Yuuri insisted that Victor go. It was only a week, after all. He’d get through it.

And he did. Even without Victor around, Yuuri made sure he pushed himself to his highest limits. He woke up early every morning for his daily run, Makkachin trotting happily by his side. He went to the rink and had Georgi and Mila drill him on his quad flip, and even sought out advice from a grumpily sidelined Yakov. He Skyped Victor every night and reported back every move he’d been working on, and more often than not, would find himself dozing off to the sound of Victor’s excited voice as he waxed poetic about New York’s amazing pizza and Yuri’s practices for Skate America. But the best part was Victor’s assurance that he’d be home in time for Yuuri’s birthday. The competition ended on the 26th, after all. He would have plenty of time to get back.

But then Yuri just had to go and break a world record.

After his spitfire skate of ‘Welcome to the Madness’ at last year’s Grand Prix exhibition, Yakov and Lilia had (reluctantly) allowed Yuri to perform an edgier, more mature free skate this year—provided that he did a more tame piece for his short program. The result was _Calm versus Chaos_ , featuring a soft, melodic short program to a more modern [Agape](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1MmYVcDyMs), followed up by a raunchy, explosive free skate to [The Phoenix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kP0gO48HLY). The latter shattered Yuri’s _own_ world record, and sparked a flurry of interviews and events that never seemed to end. Everyone wanted a piece of him, and in the blink of an eye, suddenly Yuri _and_ Victor had an entire week of press booked.

Any chance of getting back to St. Petersburg before Yuuri’s birthday was thoroughly out the window.

Yuuri rolls over onto his side and presses the home button on his phone. The thin, black numbers read _12:00, 29 November_ listed underneath. He flicks open his texts and rereads an earlier message he received from Victor, tears welling when his eyes scan over the words once again.

_I can’t believe I won’t be home for your 25th birthday. By the looks of it, Yuri’s press events won’t be done until the 30th. We have plane tickets for that day, and we should be home early morning, Russia time._

_I miss you more than words can say._

_I want to come home, Yuuri. Now._

_But I guess we don’t always get what we want, huh?_

_:(_

_You’re probably already in bed. I’ll call you in the morning. Sleep well, my love._

“Dammit,” Yuuri mutters into his fist, and he licks warm saltwater from his lips. He shoves his phone under his pillow and buries his head under the covers. Soft sobs escape and he curls into himself, hugging his knees to his chest.

He lets the tears fall and tries to stop his shaking body, but to no avail. Everything around him is Victor’s, a mocking reminder that the love of his life is trapped in interview hell on the other side of the globe instead of being by Yuuri’s side. He won’t wake up in the morning to slow, lazy lovemaking like Victor promised, or get to eat Victor’s out-of-this-world pancakes afterwards. Instead, he’ll walk to the rink, alone. He’ll have to endure Mila and Georgi’s well intentioned attempts to cheer him up as they eat katsudon, listen to Phichit’s bad jokes via Skype, and settle for a five minute phone call with Victor instead of visiting all of his favorite haunts like they’d planned. He’ll feel miserable for the entire day, will constantly remember that this is the longest he and Victor have been apart since properly meeting, and will feel aching loneliness until he falls back into bed that night.

Fate is cruel, Yuuri thinks. Why is the universe always so hellbent on working against him? Why is it so _impossible_ to have just one good, normal birthday _?_

Yuuri doesn’t know how long he lays there, forearm draped over his teary eyes. It could be minutes, or hours, but a soft scratching at the door pulls him from his loathing and distracts him from crying.

“...Hello?” he says hesitantly, voice cracking in his sore throat.

A quiet _woof_ replies, and Yuuri manages to crack a smile. He gets up from the bed and opens the door, and sure enough, Makkachin is waiting, tail wagging and eyes sparkling. He practically sprints into the room, nails clacking against the wooden floorboards, before placing his paws up on the bedroom window. His tongue falls out the side of his mouth while he yaps.

“What’s gotten into you?” Yuuri asks as he walks over to Makka’s side. He pushes open the thin curtains and glances out the window, trying to see what Makka does, but finds nothing out of the ordinary besides heavy, wet snow that falls gently from the slate colored sky.

He shrugs and pets Makkachin on the head. “There’s nothing there, Makkachin. Time to go back to bed.”

Makkachin yelps excitedly again and nudges his nose against the glass. He barks and barks and barks until Yuuri’s positive something is seriously, horrendously wrong. What would put Makkachin, a calm, peaceful dog, into such a frenzy?

His answer comes in the form of a song.

It’s faint, barely audible through the glass, but when Yuuri strains his hearing he notices a melodic voice echoing from below. He can’t see from his vantage point, so Yuuri gently shoves Makkachin aside and hoists open the window, sticking his head out so he can get a better look. His eyes scan the area, glancing up and down, left and right, but there is no face to go along with the voice.

“Uh...” Yuuri calls out. “Hello?”

The tune gets firmer, stronger. It gains strength and volume, power and precision, and soon enough Yuuri can hear words, notes. He can make out a slight Russian accent in the voice, one that’s all too familiar.

 _No_ , he thinks. _It can’t be him._

But it _is_.

“You’re just too good to be true,” Victor sings as he rounds a corner, hands outstretched before him as he catches Yuuri’s eye from below, “can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Vitya?” Yuuri whispers.

“You'd be like heaven to touch,” Victor sings, lips pulled up into a brilliant, wide smile. “I wanna hold you so much.”

Yuuri can’t contain the grin that spreads across his own face when he looks down. It’s him, _it’s_ _really Victor_.

“At long last love has arrived, and I thank God I'm alive…” Victor waves his hand, gesturing for Yuuri to come join him, and, well, Yuuri doesn’t need to be told twice.

As fast as he possibly can, Yuuri slides on a pair of sweatpants over his boxer-briefs and slips his feet into a pair of gym shoes. He doesn’t bother to put anything over his threadbare t-shirt, too eager to finally, _finally_ hold Victor again after a week apart. He bursts out of the apartment and ignores their elevator, instead running down the nine flights of stairs.

The outside is cold against his bare skin when he emerges, fat snowflakes landing on his exposed arms, but he barely notices. No, the only thing Yuuri cares about is Victor—so close now, almost in reach.

“You're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off yo–umph!,” Victor’s voice cuts off when Yuuri falls into his arms. They laugh as they stumble on the ice below their feet and crash to the ground, Yuuri landing on top of Victor.

“Arg,” Victor moans quietly. “Ow.”

Yuuri immediately pushes himself up and brings his hands to his lips. “Oh no. Oooooh no. Are you hurt?” Yuuri mumbles into his palms.

“Oh Yuuri, you wounded me,” he says quietly, lips quirked into a Cheshire cat smile. “I think I need you to kiss it better.”

Yuuri playfully knocks Victor upside the head then lays his palms against Victor’s chest. “You’ll have to do better than that, Nikiforov.”

Victor laughs under his breath, then with a feral look in his eye, grabs Yuuri’s shoulders and flips him over. Suddenly Yuuri’s the one laying on the cold ground, and Victor’s hands wrap around his biceps, playfully holding him down.

“I think I just did, Katsuki.”

Yuuri laughs, breath puffing in the air. It’s only then that he realizes just how cold he is, heightened by the cool stone pressing against his back.

“We should go inside, yes?” Victor says, and Yuuri nods enthusiastically. They both get up and clasp their fingers together as they make their way towards the main entrance and through the doors.

“How did you get away from New York?” Yuuri asks.

Victor pushes the elevator button and clutches Yuuri’s hand a bit tighter, eyes averted. “Yuri told me to go, actually. He called Lilia and had her fly in, then practically shoved me on the fastest flight to St. Petersburg.” He lets out an amused, soft laugh. “I guess I’ve been quite a downer these past couple of days. Being away from you isn’t good for me.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers, “me neither.”

Victor brings their entwined hands up to his lips and brushes a kiss over Yuuri’s knuckles. “I didn’t realize how hard it would be, not waking up by your side. I kept reaching over, expecting to find you there. Imagine my disappointment when I found myself spooning a pillow instead.”

Yuuri laughs, voice mixing in with the ding of the elevator. “Am I being replaced?” he jokes.

Victor takes his chin between his fingers and looks him in the eye, gaze heavy and feral. “Not a chance,” he growls.

They step onto the elevator and lean back against the wall as they fly upwards, bodies brushing against one another. Victor leaves a featherlight kiss on the crown of Yuuri's head, and Yuuri nuzzles his face into Victor’s collarbone in return. They emerge from the elevator tangled together and work their way toward the apartment with woven limbs—Victor’s arm wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri’s fingers carding through Victor’s hair. They wander through their apartment door and greet Makkachin by fluffing his fur, but it doesn’t last for long before Victor’s kicking the door closed with his foot and pulling Yuuri into a fiery kiss.

“Remember what I promised you, Yuuri?” Victor whispers as his hands snake around and land on Yuuri’s hips. “Before I left?”

Yuuri’s heart pounds in his chest and his cheeks heat up. “I...uh...yes,” he stammers out. “I remember.”

Victor’s lips appear at his ear and Yuuri shivers. “Would you like to collect?”

Yuuri blushes crimson and turns around so he’s facing Victor. He glances up, takes in Victor’s brilliant cerulean eyes and long lashes, dilated pupils and faint blush.

 _Yes_ , he thinks. _I want this_. _I want_ you.

He levels a heated gaze on Victor before pulling him in by the lapels of his jacket, slotting their mouths together in a burning kiss. He hasn't tasted Victor's lips in a week; he moans when they work against his...teasing, biting, sucking. Victor’s hand comes up to entangle itself into Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri’s hands wander in return, popping the buttons of Victor’s jacket open so he can explore the warm, pale skin beneath his t-shirt. Yuuri gasps when Victor pushes in further, tongue sneaking through the seam of his lips; before he can fathom what’s going on, Victor’s hands are playing with the drawstring of his pants, fingers dipping below the waistline to cup his ass.

“Bedroom,” Yuuri gasps out, want pulsing through him like a drumbeat.

Victor immediately complies. He guides them towards their bedroom, never letting his lips leave Yuuri’s body, and closes the door so Makkachin can’t enter. Butterflies explode in Yuuri’s chest when Victor begins undressing them both, one item at a time, until they’re both exposed in front of each other, nothing between them.

It’s amazing, really, how flustered Yuuri still gets whenever they make love. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been engaged for over a year, or that they’ve been sleeping together ever since that night Yuuri won silver at the Grand Prix Final. Every time feels like their first, and Yuuri will never grow tired of it.

They go slow as they climb into bed, exploring the familiar dips in each other’s bodies. Yuuri tries to touch Victor, but Victor absolutely refuses to be focused on, insisting that he take Yuuri apart, piece by piece, before he even thinks of himself. Yuuri argues, says they can work together, but that protest fades when Victor’s teeth begin nibbling at his neck and his hands rub down his exposed thighs.

Yuuri doesn’t know how long he lasts. Victor’s so careful, so focused that it feels as if time stops altogether. Every nerve feels like a livewire, every touch a burning flame. Between Victor’s kisses and soft caresses and expert use of friction, he becomes a babbling, incoherent mess—the only word falling from his mouth is Victor’s name, time and time again, _Vitya, Vitya, Vitya_ , until everything explodes in a brilliant bloom of ecstasy.

After reaching that glorious high, Yuuri turns toward Victor and captures his lips in a sated kiss. He lazily lets his own fingers wander down Victor’s body, brushes and touches and pushes until Victor’s also satisfied and blissed, then slowly cleans them both up before nuzzling his head against Victor’s chest.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Yuuri mumbles into Victor’s collarbone, eyes already beginning to close.

“Mhm, me too,” Victor replies sleepily. He nudges stray strands of hair from Yuuri’s eyes and pulls him closer. “Get some rest, my love.”

Yuuri nods as the first tendrils of sleep overtake him. “‘Night, Vitya,” he says through a yawn.

The last thing Yuuri feels before he dozes off is Victor’s lips on his forehead and his low voice whispering, “Happy birthday, Yuuri.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to find me on [Tumblr](http://flowercrownyuri.tumblr.com)! I'm always up for talking about YOI and Victuuri, in particular :)


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